


Echoing Moans

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3334736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: Clara's echoes shag their way through the Doctor's companions. Pretty much does what it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Susan

**Author's Note:**

> At present, I have finished five of these with no firm plans to write more. Maybe I'll revisit the concept at some point, but these are ready to post, so they may as well go out.
> 
> Tags will be updated as necessary.

“We can't keep doing this,” Claraswaldtwar whispers. Her fingers, already under Susan's robe, apparently haven't gotten the message. Susan nods reluctantly—and more somberly than Clara would have expected. Her classmate usually didn't have any qualms about Gallifreyan society's imprimatur against sexual contact of any kind. (Now that the looms were handling all necessary procreation, there was said to be no room for the wasted time and sentiment of intercourse. The custom was only kept up in public.) “What's wrong?” Clara asks. Susan merely shrugs, sending her robe to the floor, and looks away. Clara, with a steely effort, follows her lover's gaze to the window. Realization dawns. “Your grandfather?”

Susan nods. “He's going to steal one.”

Clara knows what she means, of course. A TARDIS. She rests her head on Susan's bare shoulder and bites her lip. By rights, as an apprentice maintenance mechanic, she should really report the attempted theft. “Are you planning on going with him?”

“Of course!” Susan replies with a vigor which makes Clara wonder why she even asked. The two women try and fail to hide the tears in their eyes from the other. “He'll need someone to look after him—he's getting so old, now.” She smiles. “And it will be ever so much fun.”

“Of course,” Clara echoes. Possibilities stream through her Time Lady mind. He'll—they'll—get caught, she knows. Susan must know it, too—she is even more sensitive than Clara is. Does her grandfather? Does he care? She presses a kiss to Susan's cheek. “You'll need an accomplice,” she says. “Someone to sneak you in, and someone to cover the theft long enough for you to get away.”

“You can't!” Susan gasps, grasping her lover's intent instantly. “They'll sack you for sure if you're caught.”

“And they'll regenerate both of you if you're caught,” Clara responds grimly. “And I won't get caught; I'm a ripping genius, remember?”

“I'll always remember you,” Susan says, and pulls Clara into a kiss. She'll take the irrationality, Clara thinks, and starts slipping out of her robe.


	2. Zoe

“Headaches, you say?” Clara looks Zoe over dubiously. “I hope those Cybermen didn't do anything to you.”

“No, I don't think so,” Zoe replies. “The Doctor took care of them.”

“That reminds me—I thought I had convinced you to stow away with him?”

“Yes, you did.” Zoe frowns. “It was very irrational of me to agree; I must have thought better of it.” 

Clara folds her arms over her breasts. “Listen, girlfriend, an hour ago you were the picture of health and were about to go off on the 'scientific expedition of a lifetime,' to use your words. And now you've got a whopping headache and look perfectly content to spend the rest of your life here. It's not that I'm not happy to see you, don't get me wrong, but something's going on here, and I mean to find out what.” Zoe looks dazed as Clara chatters. Dazed, Clara thinks, and older. “Strip,” she tells her girlfriend.

“I am not certain that intercourse is indicated at the moment,” Zoe begins, but undresses anyway.

“No,” Clara corrects her. “Physical now, shag later.” She had had three units of medical and two of psychology, after all, not to mention a girlfriend who looked rather fetching naked. She inhales as she begins the scan, checking things off to herself. “Logic centers, normal...Perception centers, normal...” She squints at the monitor. “That can't be right.” 

“What?” Zoe asks, and Clara tries to ignore the spikes in her emotional cortices. 

“Your memory has been tampered with, and by someone very good...almost as good as me.” She flashes Zoe her winningest grin and kisses her on the forehead. “Time to find out what you've got in there...”


	3. Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, have some real Clara by mistake. Set during Day of the Doctor.

“Who are you,” an unfamiliar voice asks, “where did you get that,” The striking young man points with his weapon at her wrist. “And what are you doing with it?”

“Clara,” she responds, automatically, “and I got this from UNIT's Black Archive.” Despite her fear, she somehow senses that the man is to be trusted. “They said Jack Harkness gave it to them. I'm trying to help the Doctor.”

“I'm Jack Harkness,” the man tells her, holstering his gun. Cautiously, he steps across the room, touching his vortex manipulator to hers. Sparks fly, and they jerk back, eyes meeting. “And apparently that is mine, or was.” He continues to lock eyes with her. “What does the Doctor look like?”

“Which one?” she says with a forced laugh; the gun is still at his side, after all.

He breaks into a grin. “Crossing his own timeline, is he? That bastard. We used to go way back, you know. Care to swap stories over a few drinks?” Clara, herself an expert, gets the sense that she is being flirted with.

“I really should help him,” she says, fighting her curiosity about one of the Doctor's old friends.

“Relax,” Jack tells her, taking off his gun-belt. It may be a move deliberately designed to make her feel more comfortable, but it works, though Clara still keeps an eye on him as he moves to take her wrist. “You must have hit the safe-return switch, which brings you back to my place, instead of the main button, which would take you to the coordinates you put in.” He glances at the device. “Tower of London, huh? Kinky.” One of the Doctor's old lovers, Clara amends. “Anyway, no matter how long you wait here, this will take you to the same time-space coordinates. He'll be fine.” He produces a bottle and two tumblers as if from nowhere. “Drink?”

It had been a pretty stressful day, Clara thinks. “Sure, why not?”

Two ultrawhiskeys later, Clara doesn't particularly care where her knickers have gotten to, because a very handsome former Time Agent is planting delicate kisses up her thighs. Fuck me, she thinks, she'll have to get this fellow to give the Doctor a few pointers. She groans, and accepts the offer that his boyish hair seems to be making, tangling her fingers in Jack's dark locks. She really shouldn't be enjoying herself so much with the Doctor(s) in mortal peril, she thinks, but at this point, she really needs to sober up a touch before she'll be of any use.

***

Six hours later, Jack declines to follow her. “The next time I met the Doctor, he didn't remember seeing me there,” he explains, declining to specify when or where, or if Clara were around at the time. “You take care of him,” he tells her.

“You have no idea,” she replies with a wink, and presses the right button.


	4. Martha

“Hey, you,” Martha calls as her roommate/girlfriend/classmate hops into their flat. “Residency postings came out today.”

“I know!” Clara calls as she locks the door behind her. “Where did you get, gorgeous?”

“St. Margo's Children's Clinic,” Martha replies.

“Oh, I wanted to go there!” Clara bemoans her fate as she toes off her shoes. “I got Royal Hope instead.”

Martha nods sympathetically. Her girlfriend had a knack with kids, and pediatrics had always been her strong suit. “Do you want to see if we can swap?”

“Please?” Clara looks at her hopefully. 

“Yeah, of course!” Martha replies, drawing Clara into her arms.

“You're the best,” Clara tells her. Martha just laughs, and kisses her.


	5. Amy

“Oswin Oswald?” Amy asks as the door opens, hands folded demurely in the sleeves of her habit.

“She's back there,” the boy gestures drunkenly.

“She!?” Amy asks irately. “You know I charge extra for girls.” There is some grumbling, but the hat goes around, and the bonus fee is scraped up. She doesn't care, mind you, but it's the agency's policy, and she can use the extra cash.

“What's going on?” a young woman calls from the other side of the room. She peers through her beer goggles at Amy. “You got me a nun for my birthday?” She hadn't thought her friends were the religious sort.

“In a matter of speaking,” Amy notes throatily, popping one long leg up onto a chair, the slit in the side of her habit showing all of her thigh. “I've heard you've been very naughty.”

Fuck me, Oswin thinks. She's gorgeous. And that's just what of her she can see from under the habit. “What happens now?” she asks, putting her drink down. She isn't used to drinking this much—at all, really—and she's really running on autopilot.

“I'm a kissogram,” Amy explains. “And you're the birthday girl. Take a guess.” She smirks as she closes the distance, and Oswin makes a smothered 'oh' as Amy bends over her and gives her a really, truly brilliant kiss.

Oswin is still a bit starstruck when Amy straightens up. “Blimey,” she begins, and then, before she properly realizes what she's saying, “Any chance of you spending the night?”

This suggestion is met with wolf-whistles, which gives Amy a few moments to consider. She and Rory are off-again at the moment, and the girl is extremely pretty. And a very good kisser, even with marks off for the booze on her breath. “Maybe,” Amy replies with a wink, and leans in for a second kiss.

***

Amy wakes up to the sound of her phone. “Are you alright?” Rory's voice, urgent.

“What?” Amy asks, rubbing her eyes.

“The number 11 bus,” Rory continues. “It was in an accident.”

“No, I'm fine,” Amy says, which is true. “I'm just at a friend's house,” which is mostly true. “Now go to sleep.” So sweet and so thoughtful, she thinks, smiling.

“Eh?” Oswin asks muzzily. “Anything wrong?”

“Nope,” Amy says confidently, and rolls over to kiss Oswin.


End file.
